


Sunrise

by cortchuzska



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I was nine when Elia came, a squire in service at Salt Shore and a year later Oberyn arrived, squalling and kicking. I was a man grown when they were playing in these pools.</em><br/>drabbles about Doran,Elia,Oberyn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunrise

“Have you seen her? Why can't I: is she that ill?”

“She is resting now. She was not well, and it was your fault entirely.”

“Is mother _very_ crossed with me?” The child voice was almost quivering.

“She is; and with every reason. You ought to remember our sister is frail and needs protection. Oberyn, you should mind Elia is different. She can't...”

“Is it because she is a girl? Ashara is a girl too, and she can run faster than me!”

After a moon at the Water Gardens she is becoming Elia's best friend, and Oberyn is jealous.

“That's why you tripped her up, at yesterday race?”

His little brother grins, and his eyes glisten with mischievousness.

“If I didn't came out first, how could I award Elia with the Queen's orange?”

At the Gardens, the usual prize for children contests is an orange; but since Elia couldn't take part, Oberyn decided she should preside over, as Queen of love and Beauty, and the winner would give her the trophy. The children were thrilled at Oberyn's idea; _as it were a real tourney_ , he said, and one of them even carved a crown on the orange peel. Ashara anyway didn't take it kindly to the stumble and kicked him back, a general scuffle ensued, and Elia stepped in, as always supporting Oberyn. The effort earned her a severe cough fit, so the maester had to attend her all night; and now the Princess is with her. Oberyn, as a punishment, has not been allowed to visit his sister.

“You should mind who you are. A Prince of Dorne can't...”

Oberyn huffs, but his black eyes are shinier with tears. “Is there _anything_ a Prince of Dorne can do?”

Doran can't help smiling while he catches him up. “More than most, champion.”

Oberyn pouts and casts him a disbelieving glance, yet he doesn't dare object his eldest brother, for he is a man grown.

“Promise me you'll behave from now on, and I'll take you to Elia.”

\--o--

Oberyn is in his sister's cot. By rights, he shouldn't be there, but he seldom let him be denied; he gets his way - cheating, or teasing, or snatching, and generally doing what he pleases. This time he just asked the maester, who relented at last, vexed by his endless nagging; at least a simple wish he could yield to with no harm.

Besides, it is the last day of Elia at the infirmary, and Oberyn would like to make the following one special to her. They are chatting them asleep, discussing the maester's lesson about Westerosi houses and their succession lines. It works quite different from Rhoynar law.

“I told Caleotte it's not _logic_ at all. Some order has to be, I concede, and birth is as good as any, but once you agree on an order, just keep to it. You are the second, you then become the third, only because mother birthed a brother instead of a sister. It makes no sense. Wouldn't you hate me, just for being born a boy? It's not fair, it's not even my doing!”

“How could I hate you, Oberyn? ” Elia chuckles. “Do you hate me for being older?”

“I would never hate you.” Oberyn snuggle closer.

“I wish we could always be close like that.” whispers Elia.

“Why couldn't we?”

“Mother says when we are older we will live with the person we wed.”

“You could marry me.”

“Who else could I?” Elia agrees. “In every tale, the princess weds the prince.”

“Matter's settled.”

“We have just to tell mother.”

\--o--

Next day, they did.

“You can't: you are brother and sister.”

“Why can't we? The Targaryens do all the times; and great-grandmother was one.” replies Oberyn.

“I am a Princess, and I won't wed anyone but a Prince.” Elia insists. “Doran is too old.”

“The Targaryens rule in King's Landing, and I in Sunspear. Dorne was granted laws of its own; and we keep to our own custom. My castle, my rules.”

They brood over it, with comically sullen faces, till Oberyn has an idea.

“You will marry a Prince, sister, I promise; and if I don't we could still be together.”

The Princess sighs; a third son's career is always a problem, and his marriage a worse one, the more so for one as restless as Oberyn. She is grooming Doran to rule Dorne after her, Elia will wed for House Martell greater glory of, but what to do with her last born?

“Wouldn't you like joining the Kingsguard, as uncle Lewyn did? How good are you, in the training yard?”

The Princess dotes on her youngest brother; and a White Cloak is always the dream of every boy.

“The master-at-arms says I'm a bit...” he wriggles his nose “Thin; Doran, at my age, was twice larger.” Oberyn shrugs in a matter-of-fact tone. “Moreover, there are too many rules. What for?”

The Princess inwardly smiles: her youngest has never outgrown his “Why” phase and he will forever have problem in conforming to rules.

“You are not a weakling!” Elia protests. “At the pool you shoved into the water everyone I pointed, even the biggest boys.”

As older sister, she is as usual advocating for her brother. Someone has likely mercilessly mocked him for being so slight, even if he is a prince of Dorne; the children at the gardens make little of titles and do not stand on ceremony.

“You are taller than your brother was.” offers the Princess.

Oberyn's self confidence on the score hasn't suffered overmuch. “I could topple anyone, for you, Elia.” He broadly smiles and leans back his head on his sister's knees.

Only then, the Princess realizes she is again braiding her brother's hair with rainbow coloured scrap of sandsilk threads. She wonders if her daughter misses a sister, a quiet girl to play with. Oberyn hardly fits the role, even if he is amazingly pliant to his sister antics – most would forthright kick at being trimmed like a doll. He is an unruly child, but he let meekly Elia order him around as she pleases.

“What would you rather do?”

“Night's Watch. Grumkins, monsters, giants. It’s North...” Oberyn eyes widen, and he doesn’t further elaborate. Tales of the Wall aren't overly popular in Dorne. He must have snatched again something from his father's library.

“The Wall?” The Lady of Dorne can't help arching an elegant brow. “That’s hardly a career, Oberyn.”

She doesn’t worry, though; she will make good on Elia's wish to marry, if not a prince, the heir of a great house, but Oberyn comes up with at least three fancies a day, mostly unfitting a prince; amongst them, wizard, tumbler, and sellsword; tomorrow the Night's Watch will be forgotten.

“I could be a maester; neither they wed. Maester Caleotte said my potion was right, wasn't it, Elia?”

She pulls a face; and tugs at the strand of his hair she is twining. “To be sure, your nettle _tea_ was as bitter and as foul as his.”

“That's something.” Oberyn giggles. “Ouch! Let go of me!”

The Lady of Dorne wags her head. Elia was ill, and of course he has spent too much time in her sickroom, comforting his ailing sister and pestering the young maester, who is too fresh from the Citadel and soft-hearted to know how to deal with the likes of Oberyn, and is quickly turning into his willing victim.

Doran falls in and asks if he would care for a ride; his older brother's offer normally would get Oberyn dashing to the stables and putting on his riding gear on the way, but this is the first day Elia is allowed outside, and Oberyn does not so much as stand up. He just bits his cheeks and then answers 'No, I'm staying with mother', with downcast eyes, and only when Doran is almost out of sight steals him a longing glance. Nor does he set for the pools; Elia is still to feeble to play, and she will just lay and bask in the sun; and so will Oberyn, at least for a few hours. It's the first time in a while Elia leaves her room, and this is her day.

Doran is hurriedly back with a raven. They should better go and discuss in her solar, but Elia wont let go of her mother, who scoops her up in her lap.

She has her eldest to read it. “Tell me what do you think of it, Doran.”

Before they could delve into state affairs any further, Oberyn, who has not missed Doran comeback, strives for his bigger brother's attention, till he lets go of his papers and sits him astride his knees.


End file.
